


Costume

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Beetlejuice is helpful?, Extra assistance, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Over the Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:49:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27301471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You've been invited to a Halloween party, and ask Beetlejuice to assist with your costume. That's a mistake.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	Costume

You’d never have expected being invited to a Halloween costume party would be such a _problem._

A problem shaped like a pestering, jealous ghost-demon named Beetlejuice.

“I wanna go! Why can’t I go! You’re leaving me for a whole evening to have fun and I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs?! You’re going to leave me in the dark in an empty house and I never get to do _anything!”_

His whining was amazing, and not in the good way.

“You could take me! We can do a couple’s costume! Like Mickey and Minnie Mouse, or you can be a brick, and I can go as a brick layer!”

You couldn’t help but snort in laughter at his suggestions, as raunchy as the second one had been.

“Or, or--you know those horse costumes? We could do that! I could be the back half, because I like holding onto your butt--”

“And also because you’re an ass?”

The specter grinned broadly at your jab, thinking that if you were joining in on the idea, his battle was mostly won.

“Beej, sweetheart,” you said, patting his cheek, “the answer is no. No one’ll be able to see you, so a couple’s costume just isn’t going to work. I’m sorry.”

His expressive face fell. You were pretty sure that if he could control not just the color of his hair but how much it stuck up, it would have drooped in a dramatic, cartoonish way as well. 

“Fine,” he muttered sadly. “I mean, people could see me if you just, I don’t know, said my name a few times or whatever, but it’s okay, I’ll just stay here with the dust and spiders and wait in the dark for you to come back . . .”

He turned to go, shoulders sloping dejectedly, and shook off your hand when you tried to take his wrist to attempt to make him feel better. 

⁂

You actually had no idea what to dress as. Everything was too cutesy or overdone or trite. When watching those Bly Manor and Truth Seekers shows on streaming, however, something clicked into place. You could go as a plague doctor! And not only that, since Beetlejuice bragged about living through the Black Plague, he’d have firsthand knowledge of it and them and could assist making it authentic!

Excitedly, you told him your idea. Although he was still a bit crestfallen, he of course preened a little when you asked for his help and promised to give you all the details he could to make it the best plague doctor around. He went so far as to bring you an authentic beaked mask from . . . somewhere, which he proudly tried to thrust into your hands. Gingerly you accepted it, but tried to keep only the very tips of your fingers in contact with the leather. The clear glass for its eyes made it look more than slightly creepy. 

“I’m not going to . . . catch anything from this, right? You didn’t get it out of a festering plague pit . . . ?”

“Nah,” he replied dismissively. “I mean, yeah, it’s from a grave, but it’s super old so anything infectious should be gone, I’m pretty sure.”

One thing he’d never claimed to be was a doctor or infectious disease expert, so although you accepted his suspect contribution, you cleaned it inside and out with bleach. And tossed it in the microwave to nuke any possibly remaining microbes, for good measure. 

You procured a black coat and hat on your own. Beetlejuice also dug up a black cane--telling you that the doctors used them to poke at people so they could examine them without getting too close--with a silver wolf’s head as a handle. You joked that that was a prop for the Wolfman but accepted it anyway. 

He also gleefully shoved so many aromatics into the beak it made your eyes water when you finally tried it on.

“Thanks, Beej,” you praised as you tried to breathe through your mouth. “Wow. There’s a lot in here, huh? What is that, pine needles?”

“Juniper, cloves, and camphor! Some mint too.”

“Uh-huh,” you croaked. You were going to have to grab some tissues to wipe your running nose and watery eyes during this party. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“Have a good time!” he called after you, and you were glad he’d gotten over his disappointment. 

⁂

You knew the people who’d invited you to the party tended to go all out for Halloween, and this year was no exception. It wasn’t Martha Stewart, but it wasn’t professional haunted attraction either. They’d filled their house with lots of skeletons and spiders, pictures that changed based on which angle you looked at them, a soundtrack that low enough to not impede conversations but was filled with creaks, moans, and shrieks, and a buffet spread filled with treats made to look gory. 

Everyone was in costume, of course, from those same generic ones available at Halloween stores to homemade cosplay of movie slashers. A hush rippled out like a stone thrown into water when you walked through the front door, even as you called hello to your friends. The party-goers turned to gawk at you.

Gradually people returned to their conversations, and some people returned greetings. You grinned behind your mask; it was good to make an unexpected first impression. 

Wandering through the party, you slowly became aware that few people sought you out, and when you tried to engage with others, they were polite but seemed anxious to get away. More than once you caught people glancing over their shoulders at you as they left you. It also became apparent that people gave you a berth as you walked through the house, even at the table spread with food and drink. At first it was kind of cool, like you were this mysterious being, but then it devolved into being a little weird. It had to be because of the aromatics Beetlejuice had stuffed to the brim inside the beak.

“I’m sorry about the smell,” you apologized to anyone who would listen. “I just went a little overboard on it being authentic.”

You followed that apology with a little self-depreciating chuckle. 

It didn’t make people seem more comfortable around you. 

Unable to mingle, feeling like a bit of an outcast--maybe like a real plague doctor--you didn’t stay at the party long. Walking home along streetlight lit sidewalks, you had the same effect on anyone else out: veering to give you room, furtive glances back at you once they were passed. 

There was no way you stunk _that_ bad.

Sighing, you slowed down a little. Although there was a chill in the air, you were getting this hat and mask off your face. Maybe you could dump the herbs and whatnot in a garbage can, and reduce the stench. Your nose could use some fresh air anyway. 

You happened to stop in front of a closed store’s window. As you grabbed your hat to yank it off your head, you glanced at your reflection and yelped in surprise. 

It was you in a plague doctor’s costume, but nightmarishly extreme. Your coat--just a cheap plain coat you found at a thrift store, was smeared along the sleeves and hem with something that looked tacky and black, like old blood. Like your coat had been dragging along the floor of a slaughterhouse, and like you’d been wrist deep in something gory. The rest of the fabric looked moldy and stained and threadbare on the elbows.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, your mask--

It was authentic, obviously, but the leather seemed to have molded smoothly to your face. The glass in the eyeholes didn’t show your eyes at all; instead, pinpricks of light, the reflection of an animal’s eyes, shone out. 

Everything that looked back at you in the glass looked evil, depraved, and unsettling. The effect was overtly chilling, even as you knew you were looking at yourself. 

You ran the rest of the way to your place.

“Beetlejuice!” you shouted, throwing open the door so had it bounced back at you from the wall it hit.

He sauntered in from the kitchen. “Heya babes! How’d the party go? I was just here, making rice krispie treats--the kitchen’s a bit of a war zone right now--is marshmallow difficult to get off the ceiling?”

“What did you do?!”

“I told you--I was making rice krispie treats--”

_“I mean what did you do to my costume!”_

The specter stopped, and grinned. “Did you like it? Did everyone like it? I think the pièce de résistance was that faint whiff of rot. You really have to concentrate to smell it, but once you do, you can’t _un_ smell it--”

You gaped at that disgusting revelation and resisted the urge to grab him by the sharp labels of his striped coat and shake him; he’d see that as playtime. Through gritted teeth, you repeated, “What did you do to my costume?!”

“I made it authentic. Just like you asked,” he shrugged innocently.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you counted to ten, actually making it only to four. Your jaw hurt from clenching it so hard, but you didn’t loosen it much to say sarcastically, “And the way my eyes look? Is _that_ authentic? Did plague doctors have creepy shiny eyes?”

He laughed. “Oh. That. Yeah, that was some artistic license. Just to give it some flair.”

A worn coat splattered with unnameable gore, the stench of random herbs plus decay, a mask that was already unsettling and silver eyes for some “flair” . . . this time you did make it to a count of ten, and released the tension in your jaw this time. He was only trying to help. He had provided the expertise you asked for, and he just took it too far because he was nothing if not over the top.

“We should’ve just done the horse costume,” Beetlejuice advised. “Want a rice krispie?”

You glared at him, but couldn’t stay too mad too long. Shrugging out of the coat, you said, “Yes. Take this costume out and bury it or burn it or something. You tricked, and I’ll have a treat.”

“That’s my babe,” he grinned, and took the disgusting outfit off your hands. 

_fin!_


End file.
